


Sunken Ships and Flowering Gardens

by Knightrunner, Wolfgrowl



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-11-23 06:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightrunner/pseuds/Knightrunner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfgrowl/pseuds/Wolfgrowl
Summary: A collection of drabbles about my Warrior of Light Styliani Leo'ke. First chapter is a table of contents with rating guide. When I need to develop him, the easiest way is to write. So, come along if you want some cute stories of a child before he's the Warrior of Light, or some angst when the Calamity rips everything he loves away from him.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> I am very much new to FFXIV so if I mess up lore things oops. Feel free to tell me and I shall bear it in mind next time I write a thing. But, mostly I just love my pirate turned witch boy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally what the title says.

I decided to add this in at the front of this story as a guide. Because while the overall rating for this fic has to cover the most extreme chapters, not all are so mature. So here is a guide to each chapter, and what to be on the lookout for.

Chapter 1: Eye patch  
Rating: General  
Pairings: None  
Focus: Styliani stole his brother's eye patch, because what are brothers for it not to antagonize their siblings? 

Chapter 2: Ship is Sinking  
Rating: Teen  
Pairings: None  
Focus: During the Calamity, how Styliani escapes alive.

Chapter 3: Unexpected Reunion  
Rating: Teen  
Pairings: Styliani Leo'ke/Nijoh'ir Jesyho (Implied)  
Focus: Five years after the Calamity, Styliani and Iz'ya are reunited.

Chapter 4: He's Not Alright  
Rating: General  
Pairings: None  
Focus: One year after the Calamity Styliani and Sobibi find an old friend in Ul'dah.

Chapter 5: Bittersweet  
Rating: General  
Pairings: One sided Haurchefant/WoL (Styliani Leo'ke), WoL (Styliani Leo'ke)/WoL (Nijoh'ir Jesyho)  
Focus: Haurchefant comes out about his feelings for Styliani, only to be rejected.

Chapter 6: Valentines  
Rating: General  
Pairings: Francel/WoL (Styliani Leo'ke)  
Focus: Haurchefant needs to ensure his dearest best friend doesn't let the holiday go by without making a move on Styliani.

Chapter 7: Feast for a King  
Rating: Mature  
Pairings: Styliani Leo'ke/Landenel  
Focus: During the banquet organized by the Company of Heroes, Styliani gets more than a little sidetracked by a very cocky Elezen.

Chapter 8: Cops and Robbers  
Rating: General  
Pairings: Styliani/everyone  
Focus: Modern AU where Styliani and Kita are robbers, and a heist goes south when Nijoh'ir and Amasar show up.

Chapter 9: Broken Souls  
Rating: Teen  
Pairings: Styliani/Nijoh'ir/Haurchefant  
Focus: The aftermath of the Vault is... not good.

Chapter 9: Disrespect  
Rating: Teen  
Pairings: Styliani/Haurchefant  
Focus: The Archbishop is dead and there is finally time to mourn... if only Alphinaud and Tataru would give him time to mourn.


	2. Eyepatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Styliani and Iz'ya are always antagonizing each other, it's what brothers do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very much new to FFXIV so if I mess up lore things oops. Feel free to tell me and I shall bear it in mind next time I write a thing. But, mostly I just love my pirate turned witch boy.

The sun shines brightly, and the breeze blows strongly. A perfect day for sailing. Two boys are running across the ship, jumping over crates and slipping between the crew men. “Styliani give it back!” the elder calls out.

“No! Dad said I need an eye patch so it’s mine now!” Styliani yells back, grabbing the ladder that climbs the mast of the ship.

“But that’s mine!” Iz’ya retorts, beginning to follow Styliani up the ladder. 

The younger boy pauses, perched on the edge of the crow’s nest. He sticks his tongue out at his brother, “Sucks to suck Iz’ya.”

Iz’ya lets out an over-dramatic groan, “I’m telling dad,” he calls out, not caring to finish climbing the ladder.

Styliani watches his brother climb down, a frown on his face. He’s not worried about their father, but it’s no fun if Iz’ya gives up. He pouts until Iz’ya’s feet hit the deck, at which he throws the eye patch down. It lands a few feet away from Iz’ya. He walks over to grab it, then looks up to Styliani, a bright grin on his face. “Thanks,” he calls out, as he places it back on his head, “But now you need one, so I’m still telling dad!”

It took half a second for a matching grin to break out on Styliani face, “At least wait for me!” Of course Iz’ya would act like he’s still going to get Styliani in trouble- even though they both know their father would hardly scold them, much less enforce any punishment. What punishment can you put on a boy raised by pirates for stealing? 

Without a second wasted Styliani scampers down the ladder, jumping from the fourth rung. For as much as the brothers go back and forth, arguing and picking on each other, they ultimately do get along. Neither would intentionally hurt hurt other. When things do get bad, or just dangerous even, they stick together. As the elder brother Iz’ya protects Styliani, and in turn Styliani tries to watch Iz’ya’s back. At the moment though, they’re in no danger, so it’s no surprise Styliani has been antagonizing his brother.

The boys run into the captain’s cabin, headed straight for the desk their fathers sits at. Iz’ya speaks first words tumbling quickly from his lips, “Dad, Styliani stole my eyepatch!”

“I gave it back though!” The younger says not even a second after Iz’ya finishes speaking.

“But now he doesn’t have one!” “Iz’ya adds, in the same split second fashion that Styliani uses.

Styliani’s about to speak again when their father cuts in, a warm smile on his lips. “Calm down boys,” he says, his deep voice flowing smoothly, “We’ll get Styliani one next time we make port.” Their father is amused, as always. He’s never had a problem with their antagonizing each other. They’re young, and while they all love the sea, he can’t blame them if they get restless and take that out on each other. But he knows it won’t always be so simple, that one day his boys will grow up and have bigger problems. What will happen is a mystery, but life never keeps it’s childhood innocence. So he lets them have their fun, for the world won’t always be so kind.


	3. The Ship is Sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to the Calamity itself, from the point of view of a 16 year old Styiliani.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much longer than I expected, but that's okay. I'm happy with this.

Styliani knew when he woke up that morning that something was off. Tensions across the entire continent had been rising higher and higher, and if he’d had to guess when it would break? Tonight would be the night it broke. But hell... hell is not what he expected. War, death, buildings being reduced to rubble. Those were easy, they were likely. It was a problem those on land faced, and he’d have no part in it. But as the day past, Iz’ya, and their parents were just as on edge- if not more so. Iz’ya kept sparring, round after round he went, taking down nearly every man on the ship. His father was seldom seen, sticking to his cabin, only ever saying he’s planning. Planning for what? His mother, his dear mother. She was sitting near the base of the mast, fingers plucking at the strings of her harp creating a somber tune. For once, even Styliani was still. He stood at the bow of the ship, looking out towards land. The sun was setting, and even far from land the smoke could be seen, billowing up as a fight raged on. Even more concerning though, was the moon.

It rose slowly, blue cracks stretching across the red surface. Trivont approached Styliani quietly, watching it with him. The cracks couldn’t be seen growing, but when Styliani looked away and then back to it he could tell they’d moved further. Nothing should be able to crack the moon. No amount of magic and mechanics should be that powerful. “Trivont, what is that?” Styliani asks, finally breaking the silence. 

The mage is quiet still, pondering his words carefully before he speaks. He knows Styliani well, he knows the young man is no fool. But truth is? No one knows exactly what it is. The Garlean Empire had made something, and that device was likely to end the world. “Something evil. Beyond that, little is known.”

Styliani’s lip twitches, looking like he’s near tears- something Trivont seldom sees. All his life the boy has been smiling and laughing, at worst a pout because Iz’ya took the fun out of something. The only times he’s seen Styliani sob was when the boy had been seriously injured, or when Iz’ya got hurt. Without turning to look at Trivont Styliani speaks again, “Are we going to die?”

Another hard question. He wants to deny it immediately, promise the boy they’ll be fine. But he’s smarter than that. Everyone aboard watches the shore with the same fear. All he can do is be honest. “I wish I could say. You’re young, far younger than I. If anyone survives this, it’s you.”

Finally Styliani turns to look at the Elezen, and Trivont can see how close to crying he is. Of everyone on the ship, Styliani is the youngest, he’s the least prepared for something as cataclysmic as this. “If anyone...? What about Iz’ya? He’s only two years old than I am. He should be just as likely as me. More so even! He can fight, I just know some parlor tricks,” he says, voice wavering lightly. 

Trivont frowns slightly, setting a hand on Styliani’s shoulder. “You are stronger than you know. And I didn’t mean that Iz’ya won’t survive. I was just...” he pauses for a moment to debate what to say next, “trying to help. I’ve been through many battles... but something so evil is beyond me.”

A moment passes as Styliani takes a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “I know. I just don’t know how to deal with everything being so...quiet. Even mom’s music is... too dreary.”

The Elezen sighs, and pulls Styliani into a hug. The young Miqo’te is able to rest his head against Trivont’s chest. Trivont can feel Styliani’s form shaking in his arms. It pains him to know Styliani is petrified of what’s going on. Not that he can blame the young man, but he’s always been such a bright kid. Obvious illegality of being a pirate aside, he’s a good kid. Trivont could easily see him finding a lover to travel with, pick up odd jobs as they go, enjoying life one day at a time, and eventually settling down. Having a small home on a large plot of land, and a garden. Not that Styliani would know how to garden, but he would certainly try- if Trivont’s guess is accurate. 

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Trivont could see Iz’ya and his mother watching, looks of pity on their faces at how scared Styliani was. Neither knew how long had passed, only that it had been seconds at the very least, when a loud crack resounds. Everyone aboard the ship looked to the sky. The blue cracks in the moon have spread far enough to shatter it. The moon broke, chunks of rock embedding themselves into the earth. Following the initial break there’s a hellish roar. When the dust settles a dragon is revealed, from inside the moon. Everyone was frozen, shocked that it’s even a possibility. Styliani looked up at Trivont, hoping for some comfort, but finds none. When he found none he shifted to look past, finding his dad stunned in silence for a moment longer, before barking out orders. Yelling at everyone to lower the sails. Yelling at everyone to retreat out to the ocean.

Iz’ya jumps to the ready, grabbing the ropes to untie them as fast as he can. His mother runs to the helm, grabbing the wheel to steer. His father starts untying ropes from the opposite side from Iz’ya. Styliani knows he should run, help, do his damn job. But his feet won’t move. He’s stuck, watching everyone rush around him. In the distance he hears a roar that draws his attention back to the sky. The dragon is flying, fire raining down on the battlefield. Countless people are surely dying, and while Styliani’s never minded death, this is obscene. Horrific even. He watches, petrified to move, as the land takes up an orange and red glow that is far harsher than what the moonlight casts. His eyes flick away for just a moment when something moves beside him, and he realizes even Trivont is moving to help. 

“Styliani! Get below deck and help row!” a voice calls. His father? Of course he wants him below deck. It’s safer below deck. 

His eyes shift back to the dragon before he turns and calls out to his father, “I’m not leaving you all on deck alone!” His voice is wavering, as he can hardly keep tears from spilling out once again. 

His father may have groaned or sighed. It’s impossible to tell at this distance, in this chaos, in his state of mind. When he yells again his voice is hard, leaving no room for argument, “Go! That’s an order!”

Slowly Styliani forces himself forward. His steps waver, his balance seeming to diminish in his state of panic. It feels like an eternity before he’s to the stairs that lead below deck. As he lifts his foot to step down the first step the ship jostles, knocking him entirely off balance. His tries to catch himself, grabbing at the rail but instead fumbling and bashing his chin on the wood and tumbling down the stairs into the ship. His head spins for a minute too long, and when he’s able to look back to the deck above he sees a horrific sight. The crew is no longer trying to run. The dragon has found it’s way to the ship. Iz’ya and his father stand along side the other fighters, weapons brandished. His mother and Trivont are behind them, preparing spells to cast. Just as he moves to scramble up the stairs again the cover is slid over the stairs, blocking him in. 

“No! No no no! Let me help!” he screams, fists pounding on the wood. The sound from above is worse than he could ever imagine. Screams and breaking bones, wood getting broken as the beast claws at the crew. He can feel the heat of the dragon’s breath through the wood. The steps of the crew running vibrate through to the steps he sits on. No one opens the hatch though. He’s trapped. With one last, weak hit upon the wood he begs, “Please. Please let me help...”

As the words leave his lips a crew mate approaches from the bottom of the stairs. “Sir, we’ve got ta escape. The hull’s been breached. Ship’s goin’ down, an’ fast,” she says. Styliani knows her, she’s always been on the more gentle side, never wanting to cause problems. He’s never understood how she ended up on a pirates ship. But she’s never spoken wrong. When she voices a concern, it’s legitimate. 

Slowly he turns to face her. She looks so small, even more so than Lalafell do anyways. She’s far away, and her body language says she’s just as scared as he is. He slides down the stairs, and when he hits the bottom his feet splash in water. He stares at it for a moment, processing what exactly that meant, and realizing just how badly the hull must have been damaged... or how long he’d been banging at the door. When he stands she turns to lead down the hall, “C’mon sir, there’s rubble blocking most places, but if we can get through the ‘ole in the hull we can get out safely.”

Get out through the hole? “But the water coming in?” He asks, following behind her. He’s finally beginning to respond properly again, and with that comes the realization that her plan is flawed. The water pressure is too strong for the Lalafell to swim through.

She rubs the back of her head, “Yeah. It’ll be hard, but I’m sure you can do it,” she says, a nervous twinge to her voice. She’s hopeful that Styliani doesn’t take note that she only said he’d get out. She has little hope for herself. No pirate is weak, but it’s hard for even the strongest swimmers to be stronger than the sea when she’s angry. 

The further into the ship they go the higher the water gets, and the more muffled the battle sounds are. The walk is eerie, sounds of battle ringing out but sounding so very distant, and the grunts and groans of the men still rowing, trying to escape this hell. By the time they get to the next staircase the water is to his waist, and his compatriot is riding on his back. “We’ll have to swim from here out won’t we?” Styliani asks.

She nods, and pats his shoulder twice as a signal to let her into the water. “C’mon sir. We’ll get outta ‘ere,” she said, her lips pulling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He knows well enough that she’s likely lying. They won’t both get out. They’ll be luck if anyone makes it out alive. The father they walked the more men abandoned rowing, instead searching for a way out. “How far is the hole?” he asks.

“Not far. Take one good breath an’ ya should be fine,” she says before doing exactly that. 

Styliani sighs, taking a glance over his shoulder. The hatch is likely still closed, but part of him wants to run back. Just to try and get to his family again. It’s a foolish idea though, and he knows that. So he buckles down, takes a deep breath, and dives into the water. Sound is muffled, and the salt water stings his eyes but he keeps going, swimming deeper. It’s not a terribly far swim to the hole, but the closer they get the harder it gets. 

Just as they approach, almost free, Styliani notices the Lalafell struggling. He grabs her, pulling her close so she can hold onto his shirt. Styliani resumes moving forward, having to recover lost progress from his break. He grabs the broken wood to pull himself forward, and ultimately pushes past the hole. The moment he passes through the ship cracks, and he feels the hull shake in his hands. Even in the muffled sounds of underwater he hears the snap, and the roar of the dragon as it breaks his home apart. It’s all he can do to pull them away, out of range of the wreckage. He makes it to shore, collapsing for a moment. His compatriot lets go of him, standing up to watch the ship go down.

His breath feels impossible to recover. For all the competitions he’s had with Iz’ya to see who could hold their breath longer, none lasted that long, and none were under so much stress. Still panting he rolls over, looking at the ship, bow pointed to the sky, and the dragon flying away, headed inland towards Limsa Lominsa. “I... I’ve got to find them.”

The Lalafell turns to him, a scowl on her face, “Sir, don’t be ridiculous. They’ll find their way to us,” she says, discouraging him from running straight back into the water. Looking down the beach there were already bodies beginning to wash up on shore with the freshly made driftwood.

Styliani shakes his head, standing slowly. “No. I can’t wait. I’ve got to find them,” he insists, taking a few weak steps towards the water.

“Sir! You’re in no condition to go back out there!” she protests, waving her arms dramatically. 

His steps pause, for just a moment. He takes a few deep breaths as he turns back to look at her, “Sorry. I’ve got to try.” Then he turns back to the water and runs in. The water splashes until he dives, heading under. The ship is sinking fast, and he’s tired. He knows this too well. He knows he doesn’t have long to search. But he does all that he can, delving down to the wreckage for as long as his lungs allow. Time and time again he goes down, each time finding nothing. He keeps going down, until his muscles give out, and he’s forced back to shore by the current. 

The Lalafell is still waiting on the shore, and runs to help pull him out of the water. Styliani can see the look of pity on her face as she drags him onto the sand. She doesn’t say anything though. She doesn’t need to. He shrugs off her help, standing up on his own, only to stumble a few steps and fall to his knees. Tears are falling from his eyes as he leans back and looks to the sky. He raises a hand to cover his face, although there’s hardly any reason. There’s only one person around, and she knows all too well the pain he’s in. He found neither them nor evidence of them, and he knows it’s most likely that their bodies sunk to the ocean floor long before the ship sank.

“They can’t be.... they can’t be gone... they can’t...”


	4. Unexpected Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After five years of thinking everyone in his family is dead, finding his brother goes rather.... unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is loosely based on a rp with my buddy that RPs Nijoh'ir, but mostly spawned of me wanting to write Styliani and Iz’ya being reunited. I will warn, it was written at almost 3am, and I had just gotten done with a wild game of D&D, so my mental processing wasn't great, and this likely won’t be my best work by a long shot. But, hopefully it is enjoyable none the less.

Iz’ya has been working with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn for several weeks at this point. He’s well acquainted with most everyone there, aside from a quartet of Miqo’te who always seem to run off on their own and never hang around the Waking Sands. From what he’s heard its a very mismatched group of men. One being a war veteran that tends to keep to Gridania, one that travels a lot but never speaks much of his past, and the other two… he frankly hasn’t heard much on. Nothing concrete anyways- comments from some of the younger Scions about one of them being “Daddy” material don’t count. 

Generally speaking, walking from the storeroom to the exit isn’t a troublesome walk. The Waking Sands is a rather small complex really, and there’s not much in the halls, maybe a closet or two, some wall decorations. But having walked past these things countless times for the past several weeks he’s gotten used to ignoring them. But… hearing some rather odd noises from the closet as he passes he’s forced to pause. It doesn’t take long to place what the sounds are. Purring and chittering of Miqo’te getting it on. Iz’ya is very suddenly interested in walking away- except something about it bothers him. One of the people in there, both men if he had to guess by the voices, sounds painfully familiar. He makes no habit of listening to others having sex, but the moans and whimpers of what he’s guessing is the sub, reminds him of someone, but he can’t quite place it. Not immediately. 

Then it hits him, like a punch in the gut. Styliani. After five years, he’s finally hearing his brother’s voice again… and it’s because he’s banging someone in a closet. He sighs and shakes his head, walking away down the hall. His mission can wait a bit now, but he’s also not inclined to stay right outside the closet. There’s something very wrong about listening to his little brother have sex. He is rather curios as to who he’s with though. He heads out towards the entrance to the Waking Sands, taking a seat on a stool. 

It takes some time before anyone comes down the hall, and sure enough the next person to round the corner is Styliani. The boy walks past, entirely missing seeing Iz’ya. He’s about to open the door to leave when Iz’ya calls out, “What you’re just gonna ignore me?”

Styliani pauses, hand hovering over the door handle. It looks like he’s trying to convince himself he’s hallucinating, but then he turns and locks eyes with Iz’ya. “You… you’re alive?”

He grins, standing up from his seat. “Very much so. You seem to be quite lively yourself- even if you’re hiding in the closet,” he says, poking fun at his brother. 

The redhead fumbles over his words for a minute, trying to sort out his thoughts. His brother is alive, his brother is teasing him, his brother heard him… well shit. “I can explain- but- later. Where the hell have you been?”

Iz’ya shrugs, “Here and there. Limsa mostly. I’m guessing it’s just been bad luck that we never crossed paths.” He pauses for a moment, taking a deep sigh. “Did anyone else make it?”

It’s been five years. Five years where Styliani tried not to think about who lived and who died. Five years of running from his past, and distancing himself from everyone. “Sobibi got out with me, I found Trivont later but… he’s gone now. And… and now you’re here,” Styliani says. The more he says the harder it is to get the words out. He still can’t believe Iz’ya is standing in front of him. “Fuckin’ hell Iz’ya! If you’re part of the Scions ‘ow come ya never left me a message with Minfilia or Thancred?”

He walks over, and slowly places a hand on Styliani’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about Trivont…. and I didn’t know you were here. No one ever said your name, they just referenced your little quartet.”

At the touch Styliani just stares at Iz’ya. He’s trying to process everything, the words he’s hearing, the sight of his brother, the touch. It’s been too long since he’s had family. After five years… he’s forgotten what it’s like. Finally, after an eternity of silence he pushes forward, wrapping his arms around his brother. “Fuck I missed you.”

Iz’ya’s arms wrap around Styliani, “I know kid. I missed you just as much. I’m not going anywhere again.”

Styliani nods against his shoulder, and Iz’ya can feel drops of tears falling onto his shoulder. It’s a rarity for Styliani to cry, but he can’t blame the kid. It’s been hell living alone, for five years, and Styliani wasn’t prepared for that struggle. Eventually Styliani pulls away, and wipes his eyes. “Sorry.”

The elder brother waves a hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it. What I’m worried about- or curious about more accurately, is who did this?” he asks, pointing a finger at the hickey on Styliani’s neck. 

The younger blushes, a hand raising to cover it. “Uhm… That would be the work of Nijoh’ir. How much could you hear?” he asks hesitantly.

A laugh escapes Iz’ya’s lips, “Far too much. Admittedly- I wouldn’t have found you here had I not heard your voice moaning and pleading for more, but my dear brother, that is not something I ever care to hear again.”

He groans, dropping his head in his hands. “Sorry. Next time I’ll drag him to an inn. You’re not going to kill him for touching your little brother are you?” he asks, remembering all too well the number of times Iz’ya had threatened the people they’d plundered from when they so much as looked at him.

“No, you’re old enough to take care of yourself. And plus, It’s not a familiar name, which means he’s one of your little quartet buddies, so I’m assuming he’s trustworthy. But if he does hurt you- there is no where on this earth he can hide that I won’t find him,” Iz’ya explains. If Styliani managed to make it five years alone, then he doesn’t expect the kid to give his heart out easily to any man he meets. 

This Nijoh’ir guy must be pretty special.


	5. He's Not Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Styliani and Sobibi have been in Ul'dah for a year since the Calamity when they find an old friend.

There’s a lot of things Styliani wonders if his parents would approve of. They knew Trivont was teaching him magic, but it was minor things. Little showy tricks, nothing that is destructive or useful really. Obviously his mother, as a fellow mage, couldn’t complain. His dad usually only complained that he never learned to fight. After the Calamity though, he was forced to learn to fight. Sobibi took him to Ul’dah where he learned the basics of pugilism. It was useful, though it felt wrong. Physically it shaped him up nicely, but the lack of magic just felt too wrong. Luckily he found an old friend while in Ul’dah- more specifically, Sobibi found an old friend.

He’s sitting in the tavern when Sobibi runs in, doing her best to drag an Elezen man behind her. It takes only a single glance to recognize the scruffy face and tied up, messy, brown, undercut. His ears are adorned with too many piercings, and his right eye is now covered with an ornate leather eyepatch. 

As they cross the room Sobibi calls out to him, “Styliani! Styliani look! I found Trivont!”

The lavender haired boy stands up so fast his chair tips over, clattering loudly when it hits the floor. Several heads turn to look at him as he runs over to the Elezen. He hits hard enough to knock the wind out of Trivont as he wraps his arms around the bigger man. The past year has been far from easy. Having Sobibi made it bearable, but Styliani was never as close with her as he was Trivont. Having his mentor back is beyond good news. 

Trivont laughs, wrapping his arms around Styliani as he settles against his chest. “It’s good to see you too.” He lets the boy hold him for a minute before pulling him away and tilting his head up. “C’mon let me look at you.” Nothing major stands out. Styliani’s a bit older, his jaw’s squared up a bit, and there’s a small scar on it now. Trivont very vaguely remembers watching the boy fall down the stairs of the ship and winces slightly. “You’ve grown well.”

He grins, sight hazy as tears well up in his eyes. “I only made it because of Sobibi. I though everyone else died. I couldn’t find anyone! I searched for so long... I got so tired. I couldn’t... I thought-”

“Hey hey hey, hush now Styliani. It’s okay. It’s over now. If the three of us are all alive then there’s every chance your family is too,” he says, comforting the boy. 

Styliani nods slowly, leaning his head down to rest on Trivont’s chest again. The top of his head hardly reaches the Elezen’s collar. He’s always felt small next to Trivont, but this time he’s okay with it. Having Trivont’s arms around him feels safe, well protected. He can feel Trivont’s hand running over his head, fingers lightly combing through his hair. “You’ve not cut your hair in a while,” he comments. 

Styliani shrugs, “I haven’t had anyone to cut it. Sobibi’s no good at it.” There’s an offended noise from below them, prompting Styliani to pull away and look down at the Lalafell. “Sorry, but it’s true. You made a mess of Gagaruna's hair. I don't think he's ever letting you do that again." 

Sobibi pouts, arms crossing in front of her chest. "That doesn't mean you get to give me a hard time about it. Now c'mon go pick up your chair before Momodi yells at you," she orders, pointing to the still knocked over chair. 

He raises a hand, opening and closing his fingers to mock her talking, to which he received a sharp heel on his toes. "Ow!” 

Trivont laughs lightly, amused by the interaction. It seems the past year has been good for the both of them, all things considered. Styliani is cheerful, joking around with Sobibi, and the once timid Lalafell seems to have come out of her shell. Styliani turns away and returns to the table. Trivont begins to follow when Sobibi holds out her hand to him, telling him to stop. Before addressing him she calls out, “Hey Styliani go get us some drinks! I’m sure Trivont is parched!”

The boy nods as he picks up the chair and heads over to the bar. Trivont looks down at Sobibi, furrowing his brow at her. “What’s wrong?” He asks. Since Sobibi found him in the street everything has seemed fine. She was doing better than ever, and while it’s clear that Styliani is still struggling, he appeared happy despite that. 

She sighs, eyes trailing after Styliani. “He looks happy, but don’t let it fool you. He’s having a rough time. He’s gone down some dark roads,” she states. With a sigh she shifts her gaze up to Trivont, “He’s gotten arrested several times for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. All evidence states he’s guilty, but he doesn’t remember anything and he’s always had the gil to get out of it but... I’m not sure what to believe honestly.”

“Sobibi, are you forgetting where he was raised?” Trivont asks. It’s not exactly unexpected that a boy raised by pirates would get in trouble with the law. If anything, Trivont expects he would flourish in a city as... malleable as Ul’dah when gil is offered. 

The Lalafell shakes her head, “I’ve not forgotten. I’ve not forgotten the kind hearted boy he was either. The child K’doh and Cet’ly raised never came home beaten and bloody. His brother might, but Styliani would never.” 

He sighs quietly, troubled by what she’s saying. She’s right to say that Styliani has always been the kinder brother. Iz’ya was never particularly vicious, but Styliani has a kind heart that rivaled only his mother’s. “What has he done?”

She walks over to the table, beckoning Trivont to follow. “I can only say so much for sure,” she starts as she climbs into the chair. Trivont sits across from her, and folds his hands on the table to listen to her. “He’s killed some people I know that. Might’ve involved torture as well. Normally he’s aimed at criminals- worse ones than us. But bystanders get in the way, and he doesn’t seem to care. He has his good days, like today, where he looks like that same child we’ve seen for the past 17 years. But there’s been a lot of bad days too. There’s a blood lust in him, and it scares me.”

Trivont nods solemnly, thinking over what he was being told. His eyes wander over to Styliani, who’s chatting excitedly with the bartender. He certainly does look happy, but he can understand why he’s struggling. He’s hardly an adult and he lost everything he knows and loves. But for that to manifest itself into a blood lust? He never expected that. “What keeps him stable?”

She shrugs, “Nothing. That’s just it Trivont, he’s not stable, and that makes his magic dangerous. I’ve taken him to the pugilists, both to teach him to defend himself, but also to hopefully teach him some self control. So far I think I’ve just made him more dangerous.”

He reaches out a hand to rest on her shoulder, which ends up wrapping around her shoulder due to the size difference. “Don’t take the blame Bibi, you’ve done the best you can. I’m here now, and I’ve no plans to leave. If he’s as volatile as you say, then he needs to know how to control his skills, and that’s something I can help with- as can Cocobuki if Styliani expresses interest in the guild.” 

Sobibi nods, watching as Styliani grabs the drinks and starts heading back towards them. “Anyways, enough about him, what have you been up to?” she asks, directing the conversation elsewhere. No need to get Styliani worried about it right now. He’s having a good day, and neither of them are keen on ruining that.


	6. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haurchefant has strong feelings for 1 (one) Warrior of Light- alas that Warrior has feelings for one of his fellow Scions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Haurchefant just about as much as anyone else, but listen- Styliani my boy- he just- he loves Nijoh'ir so much. It is ridiculous.
> 
> Also- first time writing Haurchefant so lemme know how I did. Cause I'm not good at the flowery language he uses.
> 
> Note: Nijoh'ir belongs to my bud over here: nijohirjesyho.tumblr.com

Lord Haurchefant is many things. Kind, helpful, handsome, genuine, trustworthy, loving, the list goes on. It’s a list Styliani’s heard many times from many people; Samilen, Nijoh’ir, Kita, nearly everyone he’s met that knows Haurchefant, knows how his heart goes out to all. While he may be scorned and hated in Ishgard, anyone from outside the country sees the value in him. They see him as a man, not as a bastard. Styliani may not have much understanding of the prejudice against bastards, but he does understand it means a lot to the Elezen that Styliani doesn’t care about his birth status. Styliani remembers well a late night conversation with Haurchefant about their births, about how pirates seldom marry or stick to a single partner. Haurchefant was astounded by how accepting the young Miqo’te was. He knew Styliani hated talking about his past, that even his nearest and dearest friends only know pieces. Their conversation was vauge at best, but it meant a lot to Hauchefant. Styliani mentioned his parents being unmarried, and how it was common among the pirates in Limsa, but it was worded in such a way that it was unclear if Styliani was one such pirate. Regardless, it was comforting to hear that being a bastard didn’t impact Styliani’s view of him. If he’s being honest, he could have guessed. It’s no secret Styliani is closer with Nijoh’ir than most of his other friends, and Haurchefant is aware that Nijoh’ir was also born out of wedlock. He is no fool, he knows how to put two and two together. But, assumptions are dangerous.  


With all of this knowledge, and the conversations they have had, it’s lead to here. Another late night conversation, as is so common for them. Being summoned to talk to Haurchefant is nothing new. They both enjoy their conversations and the things they learn from each other. Styliani expected tonight would be no different. When he arrived and found Haurchefant waiting with drinks prepared by the fire though, he felt like something was off. Most of their talks start with business and devolve into pleasure, but this looks set up for pleasure. The moment Styliani sets foot in the door Haurchefant stands to greet him, arms open and a smile on his face. “Styliani! Tis good to see you! I trust your travels have been going well?”  


The Miqo’te nods, closing the door behind him and speaking as he crosses the office, “As well as they ever do.”  


Once within reach Haurchefant pulls Styliani into a hug, a rather common occurrence since he learned how much the Miqo’te enjoys physical affection. It’s such a familiar feeling to be in an embrace with him, and how Haurchefant longs to hold on forever. Alas Styliani pulls away and reaches for a drink. “So, what do you need from me?”  


Haurchefant follows suit, grabbing his own glass. “Ah, a rather… delicate topic if I am to be honest. I was speaking with Iz’ya, and he mentioned something that is of great interest to me.” He pauses, taking a long drink from his glass. Haurchefant is not known for being reserved, lead of all with Styliani, but this evening seems to be an exception. It is with a heavy sigh that he speaks again, “Iz’ya gave me some advice really. I admit I was lamenting some sorrows to him in an unseemly manner, but he, much in the same way as you, is kind beyond words. He took no offence at my drunken state, and instead told me how to calm my anxieties. As much as I disdain facing this, for fear it should result in anguish, it is something I simply must say.”  


Once more he pauses, and Styliani speaks up in the break, “You don’t have to be so formal. I’m a friend, you can speak casually.”  


The Elezen chuckles nervously, “Ah… of course. I’m sorry, I can lead Camp Dragonhead no problem, but matters of the heart are something else entirely.”  


The mention of love certainly isn’t what Styliani is expecting, as exemplified by him choking on his drink. He stammers out an apology, wiping stray drops of wine from his lips. “Love? I flirt a lot I know- but if you want actual love advice I’m… not going to be much help.”  


Haurchefant waves a hand as if to dismiss the thought, “No, no, as I said before, Your brother offered advice. Now I am simply following through on it.” He moves over, kneeling in front of Styliani so they are eye level. “Your brother said you have interest in someone, though he dared not tell who. I know not if that is because he isn’t privy to the information, or simply did not wish to share it. This leaves me to wonder who it is that you care for, and how I might aid you in… pursuing them.”  


Styliani nods slowly. As he said, he’s no expert on romance, and he certainly has told Iz’ya who it is he loves. Far too similarly to Haurchefant he’s spent too many nights drunken and unloading on Iz’ya, and while he will admit in Coerthas it’s been a lot harder topics, but it is still all too common for him to simply talk about Nijoh’ir for hours on end. How Iz’ya handles it Styliani will never know. What Haurchefant is saying though, sounds more like a question or a request, as if he’s hoping he’s the target of Styliani’s affections. He’ll admit, he cares greatly for Haurchefant, but not in that way. The man is far kinder than most, has done more than Styliani ever expected for the Scions, he’s handsome for sure, but Styliani can’t look at him the same way he looks at Nijoh’ir. There’s only one way to figure out his intentions are though, and that’s by asking- something Styliani is not keen on doing. “I appreciate the offer, but no. There’s more going on than me simply not making my interest shown. He is far too busy with his own duties, and I don’t know that Sun can handle a relationship right now.”  


The Miqo’te realizes when he stops talking he didn’t actually ask Hauchefant’s intentions. What he reads off the man’s face says it all though. The moment Styliani said Sun, a known nickname for Nijoh’ir, Haurchefant’s face fell. His expression had been nervous, but still felt like there was hope to it. But the moment a name was used Hauchefant’s eyes fell and his shoulders slumped. It felt like watching his heart break. Then he spoke, and Styliani’s heart broke for him. “Nijoh’ir? He’s who holds your heart?” He asks, voice hardly above a whisper. There is merely a nod from Styliani as Haurchefant stares at him. The eye contact is awkward, it lasts so long with neither of them speaking.  


“Is that… a problem?” Styliani asks, faltering slightly on his words. He never did ask, but he’s confident he knows what Haurchefant’s intentions were now. His trepidation on asking his intentions seem to be placed correctly. Now he must simply deal with the fallout of that.  


The Elzen shakes his head quickly, eyes darting back to Styliani. “Of course not! It is good that you care so much for him. You’re clearly very close with him already, I was a fool to not see it,” he says, the last sentence trailing off into a whisper.  


Styliani shakes his head, scooting forward in his seat to take Haurchefant’s hands into his own. “You’re no fool Haurchefant. You’re one of the most admirable men I’ve ever met. It’s just hard to see things sometimes, with everything going on like we’ve been dealing with.”  


Haurchefant smiles sadly, eyes falling to the hands that hold his own. They’re so much smaller than his own, and feel so fragile, but so safe as well. They are calloused, as any warriors are, but still soft. He’s not the close and personal combatant his brother is, nor the sculpted archer that Nijoh’ir and Samilen are- but his magic has a flair all its own. Or is that simply Styliani himself being so splendid? “I thank you Styliani, you are too kind. I do hope things go well for you and Nijoh’ir. You two are both splendid. If you are ever in need of anything, I am always here Styliani.”  


He nods, understanding well what Haurchefant is saying, or even just implying. Not everything is said, but it is understood. Haurchefant will always be a friend, or more if that is desired, but overall wants what is best for him, and will let himself fall to the wayside. It’s an attitude Styliani can’t argue with, it’s admirable and humble. “Thank you Haurchefant,” he says before standing up. He grabs his glass to down the rest of the wine before saying, “Have a good night,” and leaving the office.  


Tonight certainly did not go how Styliani or Haurchefant expected, but in the end it wasn’t bad. It was not good per say either. Bittersweet is the best descriptor Styliani can think of. He feels bad for having to reject Haurchefant, because the man is more than anyone could wish for, but he’s not Nijoh’ir, and Nijoh’ir is all that Styliani wants. He’s grateful beyond words that Haurchefant took it so well, as he’s seen the same situation play out much worse far too many times in his life.


	7. Valentines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentines in Ishgard, so naturally Haurchefant wants to ensure his two, mutually pining and mutually oblivious, best friends have a splendid day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, this is longer than I expected. But that’s fine, that’s good. So anyways, I wrote a thing about Styliani and Francel, cause there’s no content for WoL/Francel, so if I can’t find it then I’ll make it myself. That’s what I did. I asked the CBHC for prompt ideas and was given Valentines, and this is where it went.

Normally being summoned to Ishgard it’s for business. Haurchefant is much unlike the rest of the Ishgardians Styliani has met, he does ask favors, but never in the same way that the rest do. Most are wanting proof of Styliani’s intentions, but Haurchefant only ever asks to show his trust. The things he asks for always matter, unlike some who simply send him with letters to deliver. 

Showing up in Camp Dragonhead to find it festive isn’t what Styliani expects. It’s still an outpost so it’s not completely transformed by any means, but there’s an air of… something. There are imported flowers, scented candles, candies being passed around. It gives him pause, racking his brain to remember the holidays. He celebrated very little growing up, and since then he’s just not celebrated anything. There’s been nothing for him to celebrate. He watches a young woman pass off a gift to a soldier, blushing and fidgeting the whole time. That’s when it clicks what holiday it is. Valentines, the holiday he’s celebrated the least in his life. He shakes his head and continues on, heading for Haurchefant’s office. What everyone else does isn’t his concern.

The Elezen’s office is no different from outside, couples flocking to escape the hard wind and cold. Styliani gives a sideways glance to the massive group by the fire as he approaches Haurchefant’s desk. “You know, calling someone from Limsa isn’t the best idea when you’ve got a time sensitive mission,” he points out.

Haurchefant chuckles, “You’re very right Styliani, but this is a job only you can do my friend.” He opens a drawer of his desk and removes a latter, which seems to only add to the annoyance on Styliani’s face. “I understand your disdain for delivering letters, but this carried information of dire importance. I need you to take it to Francel by nightfall. As you can see, everyone here in Dragonhead is rather preoccupied.”

Styliani nods. Francel isn’t far, but there are still more than enough hazards between here and there, and as Haurchefant says the soldiers are all quite busy with their romantic partners. If this letter is as important as Haurchefant says then it’s no surprise he’s being entrusted with it. “May I ask what this letter is?”

Haurchefant holds out the letter, “I’m afraid that will be Francel’s decision. I have no interest in sharing my dearest friend’s secrets, even if it would benefit him. That is a trust I dare not betray.”

The Miqo’te nods again, grabbing the letter. A secret of Francel’s? Interesting for sure. His curiosity grows, particularly given Haurchefant believes it shouldn’t be kept a secret. Given the holiday still wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a love letter from someone in Dragonhead that Francel perhaps fancies… maybe even Haurchefant himself. The thought doesn’t sit well with him. He has no legitimate reason to claim Francel as unable to receive such affection, but he would rather do it himself. Styliani stows the letter and looks to Haurchefant one last time, “I’ll be back to confirm the delivery soon.”

Haurchefant chuckles again, lowering his head to review the papers on his desk, “Don’t rush back. I trust you.” With that last comment Styliani leaves the office. He mounts his chocobo and sets off, riding south to where Francel always is. It’s not a terribly long ride, taking not even a bell, but it’s long enough that his thoughts can wander. In all his travels Styliani has met many people, all from various walks of life with their own hopes and dreams. Most of them are focused on those dreams, and Styliani can’t fault them for that. It’s what he was raised to believe is right after all. It certainly makes the selfless stand out in comparison. Francel stands out even more than most. While he was unable to help, it wasn’t because of selfish reasons. He felt trustworthy and kind, but tied down in an unfortunate situation. It was because of that innate kindness that Styliani didn’t hesitate running to rescue him. That kindness that could draw anyone’s affection, his sweet smile that is so very endearing, the laugh that sounds like music, the gentle sparkle in his eyes and how they light up when he’s excited. 

When Styliani rides up to his destination he hops off K’doh only to lean forward and bury his face in feathers. “Azeyma help me. I’m a fool in love aren’t I?” he mutters. It is vocalized, but he doesn’t worry about his moment of weakness being noticed. The guard by the door isn’t paying any attention to him, and between K’doh’s feathers and the howling of the wind there’s no way his words were heard. It doesn’t take long for the cold to get to him though, forcing him inside. Francel’s office is smaller than Haurchefant’s, which is something of a blessing as it’s much easier to warm. Francel looks up from his work and grins when Styliani walks in, and Styliani swears his heart melts. The letter he carries feels like it’s going to burn a hole through his pocket, and he prays to Azeyma he’s wrong about what it is.

“I wasn’t expecting you!” Francel greets excitedly, setting his quill down to give Styliani his full attention. “What brings you to my part of Coerthas?” he asks, eyes twinkling in the firelight.

Styliani pulls out the letter and holds it out for Francel to take. “Delivery from Haurchefant. Specified you needed it by nightfall.”

The Elezen raises an eyebrow, “Oh? I don’t recall needing anything from him.” 

He takes the letter regardless and opens it. His eyes scan the words, cheeks turning pink as he gets farther in. Styliani can feel the knot forming in his stomach. Rather than letting that discomfort show he moves to lean on the desk, feigning looking at the letter. “Well? What did Haurchefant need to tell you so urgently?” 

The moment Styliani leans forward Francel lays the letter facedown to avoid it being read. The closer proximity allows Styliani to see the deep flush on his face, which seems to only get worse with him being closer. He finally speaks, after what feels like an eternity. “Nothing! Just some unbidden romance advice!” he exclaims, hardly keeping himself from stammering.

Styliani’s eyebrows shoot up and his ears perk up. Advice? Not a confession? “Oh? What love advice does Haurchefant’s darling Francel need?” The idea that _maybe_ he still has a chance excites him.

“Haurchefant’s what? No, I am not his darling,” Francel objects. “He’s merely saying he’s trying to help me purse the man I care for.” The more he says the more Styliani’s hope grows, and the more interested in reading that letter he is. The nervousness Francel exhibits isn’t just that of someone who’s scared to admit who they care for, but is that of someone talking to the object of their affection. If Styliani is correct, he’ll be elated, if he’s wrong, he’ll be crushed. Either way, he wants to know what that letter says.

The Miqo’te nods, a smirk on his lips. “Ya got someone y’are interested in? Who is it that gets such an honor?” he asks, subtly shifting to rest his hand on the edge of the letter. Francel is opening his mouth to respond when Styliani slides the letter away and picks it up. This is an action he may regret, as he’s prying into the man’s business. In his defense, Haurchefant said it would be better were the secret revealed. He reads quickly, ignoring the distressed look from Francel that’s visible in his peripheral. Haurchfant’s handwriting is elegant, more so than Styliani is used to. It honestly makes reading the letter a bit harder, but not so bad that he can’t do it.

_My Dearest Francel,_

__

_I trust this letter finds you in good standing. I know well what distress ails you, and wish to aid your handling of it. With this letter is a “package.” I do hope he hasn’t run off the moment the letter is delivered. I told him to take his time after all. I have observed our dear Warrior of Light and it seems to me he harbors much the same emotions you do. If I may be so bold as to urge you act on those feelings, I believe they will be reciprocated. I wish only the best for you, and for Styliani, and I do believe today is an excellent day for the two of you to try something new._

_Love, Haurchefant Greystone_

When Styliani lowers the letter and Looks at Francel he finds his head laid on the table, hat knocked askew. If Styliani wasn’t so flustered he’d be in awe how cute the Elezen looks as such a flustered mess. He lays the letter on the desk and walks around the desk to lean against it beside Francel. “I’m flattered,” he says, poking Francel’s arm. “And evidently easy ta read, by Hauchefant tha’ is. The man read my interest fas’er than I di’ m’self.”

The Elezen blinks twice before lifting his head, hat falling on the desk as he does. Styliani’s never seen him so flushed, but by this point he doubts he’s any better. “Your interest? In me? I’m just a simple man, nowhere near your caliber of skill.”

He laughs lightly, oh how silly it was to worry about Haurchefant being interested in Francel. This boy loves Styliani just as much as Styliani loves him. He crooks a finger and tilts Francel’s head up by his chin. “Tha’s exactly why darlin’. Y’are humble, selfless, kind, ‘ave a love o’ music I adore. If ya wan’ ta fuck me though all ya ‘ad ta do was ask.”

Francel’s jaw drops, or it would if Styliani wasn’t holding it. “I-I! Styliani! There are far more appropriate ways to say that!” 

The hand is pulled away in favor of running it through his hair. He’s laughing again and Francel can’t help but swoon. “Would ya rather I say ya can jus’ invite me to y’are chambers?” he asks smirking at Francel. He could add to that and point out that Francel’s office is one and the same with his bed chamber, but that may be a bit too much for Francel to handle.

Francel turns away again, burying his face in his hands. “Dear Halone you are impossible,” he mutters. It’s not a bad impossibility, just one he wasn’t expecting. It takes far too long for him to regain his composure and lower his hands. When he does Styliani is still standing there, a smirk still on his lips. Francel’s about to speak again when instead Styliani leans down and presses his lips to Francel’s. He’s shocked by the swiftness of it, but why should he expect anything less from the Warrior of Light? Surely he didn’t make it this far without a fair bit of swift behavior? 

The kiss is soft, sweet, calm. Francel has to get his head on straight again before he can reciprocate. The shock was a bit much, but it’s an easily overcome obstacle when the alternative is perhaps never getting this again. He reaches up, hands cupping both sides of Styliani’s face and holding him close. At this encouragement Styliani moves closer, no longer merely leaning on the desk but instead sitting on it properly so he can be in front of Francel. Styliani deepens the kiss, adding more force and movement to it. His hands slide up to run through Francel’s hair as he scoots forwards, just barely even sitting on the desk rather than Francel’s lap.

Finally Francel is forced to break away, needing to breathe for a moment. He is very glad at this point, that there are far fewer guards stationed with him so his room is unoccupied by any but himself. He takes a deep breath, then another. His nerves are calming, but the Miqo’te in front of him looks far from ready to stop. He gives a smile, that no doubt melts Styliani’s heart.

“Happy Valentines Day Styliani.”


	8. Feast for a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the banquet organized by the Company of Heroes, Styliani gets more than a little sidetracked by a very cocky Elezen. Somehow he ends up with more than he bargained for though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally here! Took me far too long to get all this finished, but it is here now. Hope y'all enjoy!

The Company of Heroes certainly has in no way been getting on Styliani’s good side. The threat of a primal is nothing to be trifled with, and Wheiskaet should know this. Yet the man is sending Styliani around, collecting ingredients for a feast. Surely there was a reason to it, beyond the simple importance of some banquet. And sure enough, in the end he learned that the banquet was a test to see how strong, empathetic, and worthy Styliani is. Also the banquet was for him and Y'shtola. In the end, he can’t be too upset. Annoyed certainly, but he can’t fault Wheiskaet too much for trying to ensure he didn’t sent someone to their death. 

Along the way though, he did meet a variety of people, and they weren’t all so bad. None quite so good as to relieve him of the annoyance that he was being sidetracked from the mission Minfilia gave him, but they weren’t all so brash as Wheiskaet was- or not brash in the same way at least. The one who got his attention the most was Landenel, a rather annoying Elezen in Gridania. He hides who he is, and was, from the Wailers, and Styliani isn’t a fan of that. He understands hiding the fame, that could certainly get annoying. But to hide his interests and hobbies? That’s simply torture.

Upon arrival, the banquet itself is rather calm for Styliani’s tastes... although he can’t expect much more. It’s a banquet, not a feast, not a bar, just a banquet. Something that is a fair bit more elegant than Styliani is used to. He is glad at least, that it seems to be rather relaxed. Y'shtola is talking with Wheiskaet and U’odh Nunh are talking a few meters away, whereas Brayflox and Shamani are talking with the chef at the tables. Meanwhile, Landenel seems to have drifted away from the others, taking to watching the dancers instead. For as much of an ass as the Elezen had been, Styliani can’t help but find himself drawn to the man.

He approaches casually, at first appearing to watch the dancers. After a moment he flicks his eyes over to look at Landenel, studying his features. Back in Gridania he’d not taken much time to look at him, being far too annoyed that he was being sent on errands. But now, he’s got the relaxed atmosphere of Costa Del Sol, and he can spare a minute to study the Elezen. His face is marred with scars, but handsome none the less- or perhaps is more handsome because of the scars. His hair is a bright red that seems to border purple. When Landenal finally looks over to him he speaks up, “They're good dancers, but I bet I could do better.”

The Elezen raises an eyebrow at him, “Oh? I didn't expect a warrior such as yourself would have much experience in such sultry things,” he says, almost challenging Styliani to prove his point. 

Styliani smirks, all too quick to pick up on the challenge. “Before I was an adventurer I did many things. The same drinking, whoring, and gambling you've stated you miss so much is far from foreign to me,” he states. He leans in closer, particularly at the mention of whoring, teasing Landenel with getting closer but not touching. It’s too soon to let something like that happen.

There’s a hum from Landenel as he studies Styliani, taking in the details. He can’t deny the Miqo’te does dress in a rather… revealing fashion. While his legs are covered, the skirt still feels revealing, and his top is far from modest. “I suppose, I can’t be too surprised you would have interest in such things. The life of an adventurer does take many interesting turns. But I never took you for a dancer.”

“You don’t know me that well Landenel,” Styliani points out. After all, they’ve only met in the past week. “But you could always take this chance to get to know me better,” he taunts, a smirk on his lips.

The Elezen grins, shifting on the crate he’s using for a seat to look at Styliani properly. “I would love that. While these girls are nice to look at,” he pauses slightly to _very_ obvious drag his eyes down Styliani’s body, “You may just be nicer.”

Styliani smirks, and winks at him. “Ya’re not bad ya’reself,” he says. “I must ask now, how exactly do ya wanna know me?”

Landenel pretends to think for a moment before speaking, “You mentioned being a dancer. Perhaps you’d like to put on a show for me?” He pauses to lean forward, beckoning Styliani to come closer. The Miqo’te does step forward, eager to hear what Landenel has to say. “If you’re good enough I may even ask for a private show.”

He nods, understanding well just what Landenel means by… everything he just said. To say Styliani is excited is an understatement. The chance to dance, and follow it up with a far more intimate activity. He’ll certainly be getting his workout in for the day. The Miqo’te dancers that were hired to be there of course had their own music. It was lively, and easy to put a dance to. Nothing terribly sultry, but still appealing. His hips moved with the beat, and his footwork was far more complex than the other dancers. His arms moved in similar patterns to his legs, matching at times, but also mirroring when it would be physically impossible to move them the same way his legs move. It’s a little hard to tell where the music is going, as he’s used to far more… rugged music? If rugged is a word that can be used to describe a sound. 

Even if he fumbles a bit from unfamiliarity with the music, Landenel’s eyes are trained on him. The Elezen never looks away, even when Wheiskaet called out to him for something. Landenel simply waved a hand at him, not caring to answer his captain at the present time. Styliani most certainly considers it a win. As the music ends Styliani strikes a pose, legs crossed, hand extended in front of him in invitation, and his head tilted just enough that his smirk is revealed below the brim of his hat. 

Landenel claps for him, not quite politely, but not wild and loudly either. If either were to take their eyes off each other they’d see that the hired dancers were watching Styliani as well. He slides off the crate he’s been sitting on to approach Styliani, “That was a very appealing performance- and I think I’ve decided, I would like a private show.”

Styliani gives a nod, dropping the pose but leaving his hand outstretched to Landenel. He’s certainly won this little competition of… wits? Willpower? Whatever it is, Styliani is all too happy to claim his prize. “Le’s find somewhere more private then.”

The Elezen takes his hand, and yanks Styliani close to press a hard kiss to his lips. It certainly takes Styliani by surprise, given how much Landenel has mentioned hiding his love for sleeping around. But, they’re not in Gridania anymore so it’s not as if the Wailers are here to see him being so promiscuous. What they did need to look out for- and very much didn’t- is incoming projectiles in the form of jerky, followed by Y’shtola yelling at them to get a room. Needless to say the impact of jerky hitting Styliani in the back of the head broke them away from each other, long enough at least for Styliani to yell back that he’s working on it.

A laugh escapes Landenel’s lips at the short bit of banter. When Styliani turns back to him he raises a hand to the Miqo’te’s face, running a thumb over his lips. “If I may say, you’re doing well to reach your goal.”

An eyebrow raises, “Then why’re we still standin’ ‘ere?” Styliani asks.

Rather than responding Landenel leads the way up the wooden bridges to a reserved tent at the top. No one would bother them, everyone knew the tent was off limits for those outside the banquet, and those among the banquet all know what the two are doing. Some might complain because tents aren’t exactly known for being soundproof- and Styliani knows himself well enough to know he’s not likely to be quiet- but Styliani and Landenel both have a hard time caring. Upon arrival Landenel grabs Styliani and none too gently pushes him onto the bed. “You’re going to sit there, and wait patiently. Okay?” 

A moment passes in which Styliani says nothing, just looks up at Landenel with an amused visage as Landenel begins to remove his armour. It’s complex, with many layers and latches that Styliani wouldn’t know where to start with. He quite enjoys the show he’s getting, as Landenel is being none too subtle about showing off as he takes off the armour. He lacks the same grace as Styliani, but it doesn’t detract from his allure. As the taller man is removing his undergarments Styliani stands from the bed and approaches quickly. He moves to wrap his arms around Landenel’s waist and begin pressing kisses to his chest- but Landenel reacts first. He grabs Styliani by the neck and pushes him against the center support in the tent. “I told you to wait.”

Styliani smirks up at him, refusing to behave like Landenel wants him to. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, choking out the words. 

The Elezen chuckles, tightening his grip on Styliani’s neck. He knows some enjoy asphyxiation, and he has the inclination that Styliani is one of those people. The immediate reaction of widened eyes and a silent moan proves he’s right in that inclination. While one hand holds his throat the other grabs at his shirt, fumbling for a moment to unfasten the clasp in the front. He quickly shoves it off, then moves both his hands down to undress Styliani’s lower half. The miqo’te shivers when he’s rather abruptly exposed. Despite the cool ocean breeze, the air in Costa del Sol is warm and he counts that as a blessing. No long wearing anything Styliani is directed to the bed, being forced down onto his back. Landenel has no trouble crawling on top of him, seeming to dwarf the smaller man. He can easily wrap one hand around his neck again, shorting him of the air he needs, and reach his hand down to tease a finger against Styliani’s entrance. The mix of the actions earns a moan from Styliani as his head tilts back against the pillow. “You really are gorgeous,” Landenel comments.

Styliani grins as best he can while being choked. He wants to reply but the words don’t come. There’s not air in his lungs to speak, and Landenel seems to recognize this. The pressure is let up on his throat and Styliani gasps in a large amount of air, the rush of oxygen flooding his senses. It takes a moment before he can formulate words, and when he does his voice is scratchy, “How’d ya guess that kink?” 

“It’s quite simple. Pirates have an inclination towards torture,” he explains. There’s a flicker of confusion that crosses Styliani’s face, but it’s quickly replaced with pleasure as Landenel presses a finger into him. Landenel understands the confusion, as Styliani’s never mentioned being a pirate. His behavior gives it away though. His love for fishing, his draw to Limsa Lominsa in contrast to his aversion to the desert of Thanalan, and now the way he falls apart. His words that are normally so formal are so very loose now. He can picture the boy in pirates garb and it seems so right. 

The Miqo’te mewls when he feels Landenel moving his finger in him. It’s slow, teasing, torturous. Styliani’s not sure why Landenel is associating him with pirates, but he can’t say the long, drawn out movements, painfully slow movements aren’t wonderful. Despite the pleasure though, the comparison is still nagging at him. “Pira’es?” he asks. 

Landenel’s eyebrows furrow, curious as to why Styliani is getting hung up on this. Is he wrong in his assumption? Does Styliani just not want to be associated with pirates? It seems obvious he either is or was involved with pirates, if not being one himself. There’s a million things running through his mind, and the answers aren’t likely to come easy. “The lawless sailors off the coast of Limsa, your home. Surely you’re not so foolish as to ignore them?”

He shakes his head, “I know wha’ they are. Why do ya think I’m one?” he asks. Landenel’s movements are steady enough he can think enough to get the words out. The pleasure is good, but not so distracting that he can’t converse with Landenel- even if the conversation is not one he is fond of.

“It’s obvious,” Landenel starts, “Your interests and behaviors call out to being a pirate, as does the way you dance. Even the things you don’t think about, your draw to the ocean, to fishing, the way your words lose their formality when you’re flustered. You may not dress like one, but everything about you shows you to be a pirate.” Despite that he’s the one asking questions, Styliani seems hardly comfortable with the conversation. That’s the last thing Landenel wants for this situation. If he’s not comfortable then he’s likely to run, and ruin their fun. “Enough about that though, we have other priorities right now, wouldn’t you say?” he adds on, raising a hand to trace Styliani’s lips. 

Styliani nods, lips parting slightly at the contact. Landenel grins, leaning down to press his lips against Styliani’s. It’s a softer kiss than earlier, but it doesn’t take long for both to deepen the kiss, tongues pushing into the other’s mouth and teeth biting at lips. As they continue Landenel pushes a second finger into Styliani, causing the Miqo’te to gasp, shuddering at the feeling. He moves his fingers in and out, enjoying the sounds and faces that Styliani is making. Landenel breaks the kiss, moving his lips to bite at Styliani’s neck. He fully intends to leave marks, evidence of what pleasure he’s brought to the Warrior of Light. Perhaps he shouldn’t, because Styliani may show off to the Wailers, but it’s worth it. Not everyone gets to sleep with a god-killer, and while the same could be said for Landenel himself, it feels different with Styliani. He feels destined for more than Landenel ever did.

When Styliani seems like he’s going to beg for more Landenel returns his hand to his throat. His eyes widen and he takes a deep breath, knowing he’s not going to be getting oxygen again for a few minutes. Landenel pushes down, grinning at the pleasured look on the Miqo’te’s face. He removes his fingers, and watches the choked out whine from Styliani. “Patience Styliani, I can’t very well keep my fingers there if you want my cock.” 

A shudder runs through Styliani at the thought of what he’s about to feel, and Landenel loves the reaction. He shifts on the bed, temporarily letting Styliani breathe again. He lifts the smaller man’s legs, so he can wrap them around his waist. He positions himself and begins to push his cock into Styliani slowly. He gets a loud moan from Styliani as he moves. 

Once he’s fully in he pauses to let Styliani get used to the feeling. Styliani takes several deep breaths before nodding to Landenel, telling him he’s free to move. Landenel starts slow, careful not to hurt Styliani. Slow, deep thrusts that fill the Miqo’te and earn such beautiful sounds from him. The more Styliani moans the faster Landenel moves, and the faster Landenel thrusts into him Styliani begins to beg, pleading for more, pleading for Landenel to fuck him harder and faster. A wish Landenel is all too keen on granting. He reaches a hand up, gripping Styliani’s hair and pulling on it, which only earns another beautiful moan from him. Landenel grins at the reaction, pulling harder on his hair. "You're mine Styliani," he growls. 

Styliani nods quickly, moans spilling from his lips. The possessiveness was not expected, but damn does it sound good to hear Landenel growling his name. His hips are jerking forwards and backwards to meet Landenel with as much force and control as he can manage, which frankly isn't much. He's so very close to coming, and they're both aware of it. Landenel isn't far either, but he wants to be able to watch Styliani come. He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Styliani's cock and rubbing his hand up and down in time with his movements. The Miqo'te moans loudly, nearly yelling as he comes. The sound and the way he clenches around Landenel's cock pushes him over the edge, and he comes. 

They both take several minutes to breathe before Landenel pulls out and collapses onto the bed beside Styliani. The Miqo'te rolls over, scooting up to lay his head on Landenel's shoulder. "Tha' was fun," Styliani mutters. Landenel can tell he's tired, and while the question of his pirate status is still buggering him, he's inclined to let him rest first. It doesn't take long as all for Styliani to fall asleep on his chest, and Landenel can't help the grin that spreads on his face looking at the sleeping man. Not long after Landenel falls asleep himself. 

\-----

Hours pass before either wakes, and when they do it's dark out and the temperature is far lower. Styliani stirs first, groaning slightly at the cool breeze that blows through the tent. He looks around, seeing Landenel's arm around his waist and a leg wrapped around his own. Not an easy position to get out of without disturbing the bigger man. He tries nonetheless, gently moving the arm from his waist to sit up. It seems though, that Landenel is a rather light sleeper as he stirs and his eyes flutter open when Styliani is halfway upright. He looks up at Styliani and grins, “Morning… maybe. What time is it?”

He shrugs, sitting up fully. “Haven’t made it far enough to tell. You can go back to sleep, I just want some air is all,” he says. While it is true he wants fresh air, he’s also somewhat trying to escape the questions he knows likely will come. Landenel was too interested in his relation to pirates, and that’s not a topic Styliani wants to think about, much less talk about. 

Landenel frowns slightly as Styliani fully pulls away, and grabs his clothes. He can see the unease in how Styliani moves, he’s lacking the natural grace he normally has- movements instead being somewhat rushed and bit too jerky. “If I made you uncomfortable I do apologize. My goal was pleasure, and I may have gone too far with my questions.”

“You needn’t apologize Landenel. We all have our own histories, I simply don’t favor mine. Let’s leave it at that shall we?” he says, pulling on the last bit of clothing. He grabs his hat and sets it atop his head, and gives Landenel a sad smile. “I don’t intend to lie or keep secrets, but there are some things I hide from even myself,” he admits.

The Elezen sits up, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at Styliani. “Hide from yourself? Styliani… what happened to you?” It’s a dangerous question to ask, but one that’s been bothering him. The hero doesn’t like to show weakness, that much he can tell easily. But he’s admitted to lying to himself, something Landenel is far too familiar with. 

He sighs, lowering his head to look at the floor, wide rim of the hat covering his face from view. “Same trauma that all of Eorzea suffered. I merely saw it firsthand, and watched my home get destroyed, my family still aboard,” he says. For what he’s just said Landenel is amazed his voice is so even. It is something of an admittance to being a pirate, but that seldom matters in comparison to the rest of the sentence.

While Landenel understands there’s no way he could have known Styliani saw the Calamity firsthand, it still shocks him to hear it. The thought of watching your home sink below the ocean waves, and with his family still aboard, is… unfathomable to him. Slowly he gets up from the bed, grabbing his undergarments and pulling them on before walking over to Styliani. He doesn’t dare raise the boy’s head, knowing that crosses far too bold of a line in his defences, but he does rest a hand on Styliani’s shoulder. “Sorry I brought up bad memories. I shouldn’t have pried,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “If you need anything, ever, I am always willing to help. Just stop by Tranquill, and I’ll do everything I can.”

Styliani nods, remaining otherwise stationary for several moments. The only movement is the wind blowing the tent walls, and the only sound is the soft waves lapping on the beach. Neither knows how long passes before Styliani leans forward, hat getting squished against Landenel’s chest as he rests against the taller man. At that movement Landenel wraps his arms around Styliani, holding him close. “Thank you Landenel. For both the fun and the support,” Styliani says, voice slightly muffled against Landenel’s chest. The Elezen simply hums in response, not needing to respond. The physical comfort seems to be enough of a response itself.


	9. Cops and Robbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a modern AU what happens when our favorite cat boy host club (honorary dragons included) are cops and robbers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a comic of the joke at the end and had to write what lead up to it.

Styliani bites his lip absently as he fiddles with his lockpick. Beside him Kita is scanning the street. It’s a low traffic area in the day, after nightfall there’s no one, but caution is never a bad idea. Finally the lock clicks open and he can twist the nob. He slips in, followed by Kita, who closes the door behind them. If their research is right then the shop’s owner is out of town for the week, leaving his wares blissfully unguarded. A week away is no doubt bad for business, then again neither is leaving a door locked with no security system. Of all the heists they’ve run, this is by far the easiest. Get through a residential style locked door, maybe two if the back room is locked as well, and crack into an old safe. 

Once inside Kita runs around, taking inventory. The store’s layout is simple, an open room with a circular counter in the middle, and freestanding display cases of necklaces and bracelets in line with 3 of the walls. The back wall has a couple doors, two labeled as restrooms, and one that is labeled as ‘Employees Only’. Kita trots up to the countertop, scanning over the rings. They all sparkle gently in the low light. “Hey Sty,” he calls out, “I want this one!”

Styliani approaches, looking through the glass. It’s a decently simple ring with a faint purple tint to it. He grins, opening his bag to remove a glass cutter. “Your wish is my command darling.” Cutting the glass is easy, the tool is well maintained and Styliani is well practiced in the use of it. He reaches through the hole and grabs the ring his partner wants. Styliani turns to Kita, who’s grinning excitedly and eagerly takes it.

Kita holds it up, grabbing a flashlight and flicking it on to inspect it. The added light makes it glimmer and shine like a star. He grins, lowering the flashlight. “Sty,” he starts, getting his partner’s attention again. When Styliani turns to him again Kita kneels on the floor, holding the ring out with a silly grin on his face, “Marry me?”

A laugh escapes Styliani’s lips. He grabs Kita’s hand and pulls him up, immediately pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s not quite soft and sweet, but not hungry and aggressive, just as their partnership is. They pull apart, both grinning at each other. “You know my answer to that,” Styliani says, moving away. They do have an objective after all.

Kita sighs, rolling his eyes and slipping the ring onto his own finger. “Not as long as Nijoh’ir’s around,” he responds, halfheartedly joking. Kita’s about to get to work on his half of the job when he glances out the window and a car catches his eye. It’s solid black with tinted windows. For a part of town that should be empty, that certainly looks like a cop trying to keep a low profile. He refocuses inside the store, quickly noticing now the cameras in all corners of the store. “Shit. Sty! We gotta get out!” he yells, running to the back room.

There’s tools spread out on the floor, and Styliani is fiddling with the safe. Apparently it’s a bit more complicated than they expected if he’s making use of his full toolkit. He looks up from what he’s doing, “What’s wrong?” Kita’s usual excitement and relaxed nature is gone, so Styliani can guess. Cops. Guess the shop owner was smart enough to add a security system with the new safe.

The blonde looks between Styliani and the window, watching for a moment. “Cops. Looks like we got got this time,” he explains. As he’s speaking two car doors open and Kita sees a redhead cop and a much taller black haired cop. “Oh fuck,” he mutters. It’s not their first encounter with these two, and Kita doubts it will be their last. Styliani is enamoured with Nijoh’ir, and Kita doesn’t really understand why. Sure, he’s attractive. Frankly both of the cops are. But trying to sleep with either is a poor choice.

It wasn’t as if Kita merely stood there for a long time, Nijoh’ir’s and Amasar are not even to the door yet, but he’s ripped from his thoughts when Styliani shouts in excitement. His gaze flicks down, watching Styliani open the safe and shove the gems into a bag. Once it’s full the bag is being thrust out to him. “Take it and hide. I’ll distract them so you can get out when we’re gone.”

“Getting yourself caught is a bad plan Sty,” Kita argues, watching the window. The cops are crossing the street now, guns drawn. He stows the bag of gems in his backpack and looks at Styliani. “You just want to see Nijoh’ir don’t you?”

Styliani smirks, “You know me so well darling.” He gathers the last of his tools and stands up, holding a hand up to caress Kita’s face. “I trust you to come save me. Now hide,” he says, slinging his bag of tools over his shoulder and walking out to the front of the store. He closes the door, locking it as he does. He kneels down, grabbing his lockpick again and putting it to the doorknob. Just as he plans, the front door slams open, two flashlights scan the room and land on him.

“Drop what you’re doing and put your hands in the air!” A voice commands. Nijoh’ir. Stylinai recognizes his voice in an instant. If it’s him and Amasar, then there’s no way Styliani is actually in trouble.

As ordered he drops the lockpick and raises his hands. The tools clatter to the ground with a soft clink-clink. “Looks like ya caught me Sun,” he comments, grinning even with his back turned.

The cops approach slowly, one on either side of the counter. Nijoh’ir pauses by the open countertop. “Sty, where’s the ring?” he asks. Since he spoke, and since moving closer, Nijoh’ir recognizes the criminal just as easily. Neither cop is on high alert anymore, Nijoh’ir even going so far as to holster his gun. Amasar shoots him a curious look, but doesn’t vocalize any question.

Slowly Styliani stands up, hands latched together behind his head. He turns to look at Nijoh’ir, a shit eating grin on his face. “Would you believe I wasn’t the first one here?” he asks.

Nijoh’ir picks up the glass cutter, “Did they steal your tools first?” he asks. Styliani can’t argue against the tool being his. Not many burglars put cat stickers on their tools, and sadly both of these cops know that too well.

With a resigned sigh Styliani admits to it, “Fine, yes, that’s mine. I don’t have the rink though. Kita took it and ran, he’s long gone now.” Only half of that is true, but hopefully they’ll believe it. It wouldn’t be the first time the boys have split up on a job, and the did come in to find Styliani trying to get into the back room. All appearances show he’s telling the truth. Ring and Kita are both nowhere to be seen, and the back room locked as if untouched.

Amasar sighs quietly, finally lowering his gun. If Styliani is the only one to deal with they’re in no danger. The boy is more likely to kiss them than try to kill them. He can’t even remember a time the criminal carried a weapon. “You know you can’t escape right? We’re taking you back to the station,” he says.

Styliani’s gaze flicksfrom Nijoh’ir to Amasar. “I know. You think I’m opposed to being in a locked room with two attractive men?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at the cop. Being locked in a room with these two sounds amazing, and is his goal actually. 

There’s a laugh from Nijoh’ir, “Ever the flirt aren’t you Sty?” he asks. He’s walking over, smiling lightly. “Put your hands down I trust you,” he adds. Styliani stretches his shoulders for a moment before dropping them by his side. “You sure you’d be okay with the audience we’d have? That mirror has people on the other side y’know?” Nijoh’ir asks.

He laughs lightly, wrapping his arms around Nijoh’ir the moment he’s within reach, “There’s also the camera that’s always pointed at me. We could put on a lovely show. I’m sure Chief Fray would _love_ to see what interrogation methods his top cops are using,” Styliani teases. He knows they’d never let their chief see… unless he’s into that. But it’s not something they’ve discussed, so he doubts it.

Both cops laugh, and maybe blush. The darkness makes it hard to see how exactly they react. Nijoh’ir raises his hands to rest on Styliani’s arms. “You’re a damn tease, and we gotta take you back to the station now,” he says, gripping Styliani’s arms and pulling them off him. Styliani pouts, but doesn’t fight back. Nijoh’ir easily handcuffs Styliani’s hands behind him. He directs Styliani towards the door while Amasar finishes inspecting the shop. There’s not much point in telling Styliani his rights with how many times he’s been arrested, but Nijoh’ir does it anyways, out of habit if nothing else. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you-”

“Nijoh’ir Jesyho.” Styliani is looking over his shoulder, a smirk clear across his face as he looks at Nijoh’ir. Amasar is laughing behind them, and Nijoh’ir can’t help but run a hand over his face. 

Amasar cuts in, giving Nijoh’ir a moment to gather himself, “In the court of law Sty.” The response he gets is wiggled eyebrows but no comment. He should know better, Styliani’s already expressed he’s more than okay with an audience. 

Finally Nijoh’ir puts his hand back on Styliani’s shoulder and pushes him out the door, “Sty... just get in the car.”


	10. Broken Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Vault is... not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi have some angst starring my WoL Styliani and wolfgrowl's WoL Nijoh'ir. They're both married to Haurchefant- or want to me anyways.

After Haurchefant's death Styliani and Nijoh'ir need time to heal. They need time to mourn. They need time to learn how to be just them again. That's not a task either was keen on, nor were either good at it. Haurchefant was such an integral part of their life that without him they lacked something irreplaceable. It was far from uncommon to find them not sleeping, either wandering the halls, comforting each other, or sparring in the dead of night. To say there was concern for them was an understatement, but no one seemed to know how to help. They never strayed from each other though, and likely all of Eorzea thanked the twelve for that.

Further though the loss impacts them in less seen ways. No one saw how long it took for them to have any interest in sex again. More one saw how they fumbled not having Haurchefant in bed with them. No one but Nijoh'ir saw the way Styliani placed his hand on Nijoh'ir's throat, intending to choke him sweetly. Only Nijoh'ir felt the hesitation, the tremble in Styliani's hand. Only he saw the tears well up in Styliani's eyes. Hands raise from Styliani's bare hips to his face, "What's wrong love?" Nijoh'ir asks.

It wouldn't be the first time they stop on account of one of them breaking down, but this feels different. This doesn't feel like Styliani feels like he's missing something, and when he speaks all is clear. "I'm scared of going too far," he says, voice raspy as he holds back tears. He leaves a comment of I can't lose you too unsaid. Nijoh'ir understands.

Arms wrap around Styliani, gently pulling him down to lay on Nijoh'ir's chest. Nijoh'ir presses his lips to the top of Styliani's head. He says nothing, in favor of singing.

"You kiss me to claim, as though I'd leave your side,  
You dance with the night, swallowing you,"

Styliani is curling against him, arms doing their best to wrap around him while his back is against the bed. Tears are falling, landing on Nijoh'ir's chest as he continues singing, "And stars in your eyes,"

Even Nijoh'ir's voice is wavering, thinking about how devastated Styliani is. For him to break down, sobbing against his chest, at the prospect of something he used to enjoy...

His arms wrap tighter around Styliani as he repeats the last two lines, 

"But let me come, to you my love,  
As sure as the beach, is greeted by the tide,"

Styliani was the one to break tonight, and Nijoh'ir's blood boils. He wants to hold Styliani forever, he wants to protect him. Protect him. Do what he couldn't for Haurchefant. He has to do better, be strong. Anything to keep Styliani safe. Anything to be stronger. The rage can win. He'll have Zephirin's heart. He will kill the archbishop. Any who stand in his way will get the same. He has no mercy for those who took Haurchefant. For those that damaged Styliani so much.

They will all die.


	11. Moonfire Faire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the moonfire faire it's no surprise that Nijoh'ir and Styliani want a moment to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boy wrote a cute and I added to it thus this happened.

Nijoh'ir leaned into Styliani, his hand ontop of Sty's hand and his tail twinned with his. He nuzzled into Styliani as they sat behind the Carline Canopy watching the fireworks overhead. "I love you," Nijoh'ir murmured softly, unsure if the words would be deafened by the fireworks but uncaring, unable to keep the words to himself.

"Love you to too Sun," Styliani smiled at him, the lights from the fireworks reflected across his face and in his eyes, Nijoh'ir couldn't help himself but pull Sty into a kiss, gentle and tender. Styliani kissed back, his hands tangling in Nijoh'ir's hair. The warm summer air curled around him like a heavy blanket and the the building sheltered them from private eyes. Briefly they were not the Warriors of Light but simply two people in love under the fireworks. And Nijoh'ir would make the most of this.

Styliani pulls back from the kiss, his fingers detangling from Nijoh'ir's hair to rest his hands on the man's face. Their kiss has knocked his hat askew, but Styliani hardly cares. He hums happily, just looking at Nijoh'ir, fireworks going off in the distance, the lights illuminating him gently. "Hey Sun, will you marry me?"

Nijoh'ir pauses slightly, the question surprising him. He's always expected to stay with Styliani, but the concept of marriage hadn't crossed his mind. While the question may have surprised him, his answer is obvious. A grin spreads across his face as he nods, "Yes. Of course Sty."

The younger Miqo'te beams at him, pulling Nijoh'ir into an excited kiss. As if on cue a large firework explodes in the sky, showering down red light on Gridania. A picture perfect moment for sure.


	12. Disrespect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archbishop is dead and there is finally time to mourn... if only Alphinaud and Tataru would give him time to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uhh finished Heavensward. Styliani is still very much dark knight. He's not okay yet. Idk when he will be okay, cause boy does shit keep happening.

His time at Haurchefant's grave is meant to be private... but as it was before the man was killed Alphinaud is not one to give him time alone with Haurchefant. The young Elezen came along, Tataru beside him holding white lilies. Styliani understands he means well, leaving flowers for the departed, but can he not just have some time alone? Can he not be left to mourn? Don't they see how damaged he is?

Alphinaud and Tataru talk for a minute, about their hope for a future. Its not a bad conversation, but it's hardly one Styliani wishes to take part of. It's far too hopeful. Then Tataru says something about rebuilding the Scions. He can't argue with the idea, having their allies back would be a great help. But her starting point irks him. She stands there, arms in the air as she cheers, "That means we'll need more money!" She acts as though she's not standing on a man's grave.

His blood boils as he turns to her, a deep scowl on his face as he looks down at the woman. "Don't fucking talk like that."

Tataru drops her arms, giving him a quizzical look. It is Alphinaud who speaks though, "Styliani we're just being practical. To rebuild an organiz-"

Fists clench at his side as he tries to reel himself in. "Practical? Like the Braves were practical? As though a _child_ is capable of leading an army? What do you know of practicality? You're just trying to fix your own childish mistakes. Mistakes that cost lives," he seethes. His breath is heavy and every muscle in him is tense. One wrong word and he snaps.

_There's no need to hold back. Let yourself go Styliani..._

_Come back to me._

Tataru cuts in, "Hey! We all make mistakes- even you Styliani!"

In a flash Styliani is rushing forward, grabbing Tataru by the collar and lifting her up. She's so small, so frail, all she can do is flail and reach for Alphinaud. Cries for help fall from her lips, and Alphinaud tries to help, but to no avail. With how light the lalafell is Styliani can easily hold her in one hand and draw his sword to keep Alphinaud back with the other. The Elezen raises his hands in surrender, knowing his approach would only risk harm to himself or Tataru. Styliani turns his attention back to Tataru, "My only mistake was listening to you two. Always begging me to fight for you. I'm nothing more than a weapon to you."

Though his eyes remained on Tataru, Alphinaud felt like they were directed at him. He lead the Scions almost more than Minfilia, and he created the Crystal Braves. It was his fault that they lost so much... It was only because of Styliani and Haurchefant that he found hope again. Now that hope lies shattered at his feet. Alphinaud looked at the shield that lay across the gravestone, "Styliani I am sorry. We did not mean to make you feel like a tool. I truly believed you would make a good Scion, and you have."

Styliani all but throws Tataru to the ground. The four fulms to the snow covered ground don't hurt her, but she certainly isn't happy with the treatment. Styliani turns towards Alphinaud, walking slowly forward. To avoid the blade aimed at his chest Alphinaud steps back immediately, edging closer to the edge of the cliff until he's just ilms away. The glare in Styliani's gaze is not one he's used to, and certainly not one he ever imagined would be aimed at him. The miqo'te growls quietly when Alphinaud stops moving, "What you meant doesn't matter. You've begged me for everything, and you never consider how I feel." It feels like a childish argument, worrying about feelings.

_Give in Styliani. Rid yourself of this child's games._

Time seems to stop as he listens to the voice. Styliani knows it. He once knew it as Fray, but no longer is it Fray. It has no need for the mask of a dead man, just as Styliani has no need for this would be army commander.

 _I told you I would wait. All you need to do is ask._ Anguish says, a taunting tone to its voice.

It's a simple choice. All it takes is a nod, and Anguish reigns over Styliani. So he nods, eyes closing as he let's Anguish out. He feels the darkness cover his eyes, seep through his limbs. His blood runs cold as the grip on his sword shifts, digging the point a little closer to Alphinaud's chest.

When his eyes open they focus in on Alphinaud, on where the blade meets his chest. Anguish grins, a sickeningly cruel expression on Styliani's face. Alphinaud opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off when the blade on his chest plunges forward, burying itself in his heart. Tataru screams behind Anguish, trudging through the snow to get to Alphinaud. Without a glance her direction Anguish pulls the blade out of Alphinaud's chest and buries it in the snow beside Haurchefant's gravestone. The rapier is a good sword for Styliani, but Anguish needs something heartier. Fray's sword really did feel much better in hand. 

Without another word he leaves, sword in the snow, and Tataru trying to tend to a hopeless cause. The child would bleed out far too soon to receive help.

Now its Styliani's voice that is internal, _Please forgive me Haurchefant... I don't believe I'm the hero deserving of your smile._


End file.
